


Lost Loves

by copperbadge



Category: Other fandoms - Fandom, White Collar
Genre: Drinking, Gen, parted love, secret crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal knows a very sad story about a thief and a sailor. Peter's still stuck on pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Loves

**Author's Note:**

> Junie gave me the idea, and Mandr is also to blame for several elements. 
> 
> Now a **[podfic](http://cantapodpatrol.livejournal.com/9181.html)** by Cantapodpatrol!
> 
> This is a crossover but to explain the other fandoms would seriously ruin everything.

The video footage was inconclusive. It certainly looked like her, matched all the sketches and descriptions, and she was definitely stealing a lot of money from the vault. But she didn't quite look old enough. And Neal swore up and down it wasn't her.

"That's not her," he insisted. "That's why we have to hold onto this case."

"Okay, explain to me why we can't just kick this into the _storage room_ the FBI has assigned to her," Peter said.

"Because someone's impersonating her. That's an impostor," Neal said, jabbing a finger at the video still. "She should be caught."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're not usually that upset when people don't get caught," he pointed out.

"She should be," Neal said. He looked...almost angry. "You shouldn't -- it's just -- it's not right," he said. "It...look we, they, whatever, what I used to be, we have an image to uphold. We have a reputation. Someone like that, doing that, it's wrong. She needs to be stopped."

Peter set the file down and looked at Neal curiously. "How do you know it's not her?"

Neal met his stare with defiance. "Because I met Carmen Sandiego, and that woman is not Carmen Sandiego."

***

Peter had to get Neal pretty drunk before he'd say anything further on the subject. Neal suggested it, so he didn't feel too badly about it. They bought a bottle of bourbon on the way home.

Elizabeth took one look at Neal, Peter, and the bottle in Peter's hands, and kissed her husband and announced she was going upstairs to work for a while.

The bottle was pretty low before Neal finally sat back and looked up at the ceiling and laughed.

"You know me," he said, words slightly slurred as he looked back at Peter. "I love a brunette. That's her real hair color, you know. Brunette."

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. Neal pointed at his own head. "Her roots used to show."

"You spent some time with her, then," he said. Neal nodded.

"Also she had a fantastic hat," Neal said. "I used to wonder how she ever got through customs or...wherever. Because her look, that was pretty distinctive. Doesn't matter," he added, waving a hand. "See, the thing about Carmen was, is, the thing..." he unfocused for a minute, then rested his chin on one hand, staring into the distance. "She's everyone. She's a myth, you know, she's every great thief and con artist and hustler. She _represents_ us. It's like dressing up like _God_. And then going to wander around the Vatican."

Peter looked skeptical. "I know she's legendary, but come on, Neal."

"She is! She's legendary. Here's the thing, the thing, okay," Neal said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't currently holding up his head. "Carmen Sandiego never ages. She never gets caught. Sometimes someone will catch one of her agents, but the woman herself, you'd have to be...like...you'd have to be _you_ or something. Because she's not real."

"Not real," Peter repeated.

"You get a couple of con artists together, couple of thieves, sooner or later they start telling stories. You got guys who are fifty, sixty years old, saying they knew her when they were young hustlers. Then you got guys like me who ran with her forty years later and she hasn't aged. So some people, right, they say it's a title, it gets passed on from mother to daughter or...like an apprenticeship?"

"Next you're going to tell me about Dread Pirate Roberts," Peter said.

"Who?" Neal asked.

"Tell you later. Go on."

"So my theory is, she's our patron saint. You get a really good con, really young, like me, and she...appears, and she teaches you what to do. You run with her for a while, till you've learned what you need to know, and then bam...she's gone."

"She leave you like that?" Peter asked, fascinated despite himself.

Neal nodded mournfully. "And you never learn where in the world she went."

"But you don't really believe that."

"I do!" Neal said. "I do. And there's more. 'Cause if you do hear enough about her, you start hearing about _her_. Not just the guys she taught, not just the things she stole, the _amazing_ stuff. You start to hear about who she really was. Is. You get the stories about her. Carmen Sandiego. Like, she's the daughter of a cartographer who used to do maps for pirates."

"I knew we'd get to pirates, sooner or later," Peter muttered.

"And she took a lover, a sailor, and then she lost him. So all the traveling she does, whenever she finds someone new to teach, she's really looking for him. A man in a striped shirt, like sailors wore, and a watchcap. He travels the world, always in crowds, and you can see him if you look really hard, but she's never found him," Neal said. He looked maudlin. "She's always searching for her lost love."

He looked at Peter. "That's why we have to catch the woman pretending to be her. It's not right, Peter. If she thinks we're disrespecting her, she'll vanish forever, and she won't ever find Waldo."

"Okay, I think we've reached your limit," Peter said, taking the bottle away from Neal just as he reached for it. "Come on, you can stay in the guestroom tonight."

"It's _sad_ , Peter," Neal insisted, as Peter pulled him up out of the chair. "It's just so sad."

"Yes, I agree, it's sad," Peter said, slinging Neal's arm around his shoulders.

"There's a song, you know," Neal said in what was probably meant to be a confidential whisper.

"Neal, don't -- " Peter started, but it was far, far too late. It was probably about four shots of Jim Beam too late. Neal burst into song, something about Kiev and Carolina and slow boats to China. Peter tried not to listen too closely as he dragged Neal up the stairs and down the hallway to the guest room. Elizabeth came to the doorway, apparently to stand there and laugh at her struggling husband, while Neal crooned about scamming Scandinavia. She did help him get Neal's shoes and tie off once Peter dumped him on the guest bed, and Neal finally subsided when Peter turned out the lights.

"So?" she asked, as Peter got ready for bed. "What was so important you had to get Neal hammered to find out about it?"

"Just some old myth," Peter said, shrugging. "I guess con men have their patron saints too. And you know him, he's a sucker for a love story."

"He's not the only one," Elizabeth said, climbing into bed after him. Peter wrapped his arms around her, and they both fell asleep to the strains of Neal's renewed singing.

_Well she glides around the globe, and she'll flim-flam every nation_   
_She's a double-dealing diva with a taste for thievery._   
_Her itinerary's loaded up with moving violations. Tell me_   
_Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?_

"If that song gets stuck in my head, I'm going to kill him in the morning," Peter mumbled.


End file.
